In Love with a Bully Girl

Blake had a trust fund settled on him when he turned 21, so he never really had to work for a living. Oh, he wasn't living high on the hog. He could afford a little one bedroom apartment, he shopped for his clothing at thrift stores, he bought a lot of generic items at the supermarket. It was an ascetic way of life, but it suited Blake. Once in a while he would take a job, as a bartender, as an exterminator, whatever, for a little extra cash. But he never stuck with it for long. Blake preferred a leisurely life of genteel-shabby.

Blake met the bully girl at a party. Or rather, someone pointed Blake out to her -- "That fellow's got a trust fund, just like you" -- though Blake didn't understand that at the time. All he knew was that this beautiful young blonde woman came up to him and started hitting on him. Bold, pushy, almost bullying him. Blake had never seen anything like it, especially in a woman. She had hardly introduced herself -- "Hi, I'm Molly" -- and she was hitting on him. Literally hitting on him. Molly made her hand into a fist and she was punching him in the arm, punching his bicep, over and over again, hard.

Punching Blake's arm with her hand in a fist, or as close to a fist as she could manage. Because Molly had long fingernails, almost half an inch long, so she wasn't able to close her hand into a tight fist. Her nails were too long for that. But she made sort of a loose fist, and then pounding, pounding, pounding against Blake's arm.

And when Blake tried to protest, like What the?!, Molly pressed her other hand firmly over his mouth. "Mmmmmmmmmhh!" Molly pressed the palm of her other hand, thumb down, over Blake's mouth to shut him up, as she kept punching him in the arm, beating him up and holding his mouth like a bully girl.

Blake was intrigued. He had never met such a forward young woman. And it didn't hurt that Molly was a stunning beauty. Five foot six, long straight blonde hair all the way down to the bottom of her ass, ample bosom, wide set sleepy grey eyes, wide pouty lips, a bit of a Roman nose. And her bullying hands! Big soft silky-smooth shapely hands, long fingernails like claws, and what was she doing holding her hand over Blake's mouth, anyhow?!

Blake was intrigued, and more than a bit turned on. In fact he jumped the gun (You're jumping the gun, old bean, he thought to himself) and started fumbling his way toward asking Molly out. Imagine Blake's surprise when Molly saw his fumble and raised him: "We've got to go out and hit the town Friday night," said Molly.

"Uh, uh, okay," said Blake. He was flabbergasted.

Molly faked a gut punch, and then once again she pressed her hand over his mouth. Holding Blake's mouth shut as she hissed to him in a breathy whisper, "'Kay, then. See you at eight. And don't be late."

Blake and Molly hit the town that Friday, and many more nights to come. Soon they were a unit. Soon they were inseparable. Blake found himself falling head over heels for Molly. She was pushy, in a cheerful but unyielding way. She was physical, very physical. Always shoving Blake around, getting him in a half nelson, pushing him up against the wall, like a bully girl.

Molly thought nothing of roughing Blake up in public. One time, in line at a movie theater, Molly was standing behind Blake, and she curtailed their conversation by clamping her big smooth beautiful hands over his mouth from behind. "Mmmmmmmmhhhh, hhhhmmmmm mmmm mmmmmmh, mmmmmhhh! Mmmmmhhhh! HHHMMMMMM!!" Blake was twisting and turning his head, making muffled noises, but Molly just kept holding his mouth and she wouldn't let him go. People were turning their heads and staring at the sight of this beautiful blonde bully girl in her olive drab Army surplus jacket, holding her hands over that fellow's mouth and not letting him go, even though he's struggling and mmmphing. People were staring at Molly and Blake, like What's going on? Why's she holding his mouth?

Blake soon learned that Molly's trust fund was more ample than his. Molly's father was a surgeon, and Molly had never wanted for anything. Molly rented a funky little house, step in the front door and Blake found himself in the corner of a sizable dining room, with a big oak dining table. In back, behind the dining room, was the kitchen. In front was the living room, big couch and beanbag chairs and wooden cable-spool coffee table and no television ("I don't believe in TV," said Molly). Off to the side of the dining room was a cramped little room, Molly's library, with bookshelves on one wall, and a narrow desk with Molly's Mac on it. Molly had to watch her budget, and unlike Blake she showed no interest in working odd jobs on the side; but she didn't have to subsist on city bus passes and clothing from Goodwill, as Blake did.

One Friday night Molly had Blake over for supper, and she outdid herself, a meal that left Blake sitting there at the dining table feeling contented and drowsy. Blake had had vague hopes of scoring with Molly that night, but she beat him to it. After Molly carried the plates out to the kitchen, she was passing behind Blake's chair, and all of a sudden with no warning she assaulted him from behind.

The bully girl attacked Blake from behind, clamping her large soft warm strong smooth left hand tight over Blake's mouth. Adrenalin jolt raced through Blake! "MMMMMMMMMMMHHHHHH!! Mmmmmmhhhh, hhmmmmm mmmmm hhhmmmmmm!!!" He couldn't speak, he couldn't open his mouth! Molly was savagely gagging him with her hand, out of the clear blue... but why?

"All right," said Molly, "you get up, and you come with me." Blake got up. Molly twisted and pinned Blake's right arm behind his back. Then, with her left hand kept clamped tight over Blake's mouth, as if she was kidnaping him or something, Molly proceeded to march Blake up the stairs to her bedroom. Blake's heart was pounding, he kept making muffled noises in mock-protest from behind Molly's big smooth gagging hand. The bully girl didn't take her hand away from Blake's mouth until she shoved him down onto her bed. Then she was on him again in a flash, she was on top of him, and once again she had the palm of her hand pressed down firmly over the mouth of her "kidnap victim."

Blake's half-formed plan to bed Molly was superseded by Molly's successful plot to jump her "victim," and kidnap and ravish him. Of course Molly insisted on being on top, and all the time she was riding Blake, impaled on him, she kept her hand pressed down hard over his mouth to muffle his moans and cries. She was a bully girl, that's just the way she was.

Molly liked to hold Blake's mouth, a lot, and Blake found he loved it when Molly kept his mouth tightly covered with her lovely hands. It became a special bond between the two of them, this hand over mouth thing.

Soon Blake abandoned his little hole in the wall one bedroom apartment. He moved in with Molly. Both of them with their trust funds, no need to work, a life of quiet tranquil leisure. It was the happiest time Blake had ever known in his life.

A quiet grey afternoon, company in the living room. Blake was sitting there on the couch next to Molly. And sitting on the beanbags were Molly's sister Celeste, and Celeste's partner Lana. Celeste had a trust fund too, but she was the busy type, manager of a small and trendy restaurant. Talking, visiting, talking of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings... At one point, for no very obvious reason, Molly clamped her big soft smooth hand very, very firmly over Blake's mouth, and she kept on holding Blake's mouth so he couldn't talk as the conversation continued. "Mmmmmmmmhhhh, mmmmmmhhhh hhmmmmmmm!"

Celeste and Lana were laughing and laughing at how Molly kept holding her hand over Blake's mouth. "Oh," said Celeste to Lana, "you know, Molly used to do that to me when we were kids, and I'd get so annoyed that she wouldn't let me go! Molly, she's always been a mouth holder."

And somehow Blake found something warming and melting within him, the four of them together there and goofing around in the living room. These are the happiest days of my life...

Or there was the time when Len Weiss, one of Blake's professors from college, somehow managed to look him up, and turned up at the door. Len Weiss the radical, still wearing his proletarian snap brim cap. "Molly, this is Professor Weiss, he taught me everything I know about sorting and data structures." And sitting there in the living room over cups of green tea, visiting, and the professor went off into a fascinating ramble about the time, back in the late seventies, when he had spent a summer living in a house full of computer types like himself, and they were all working on some visionary software project, which ended up as vaporware but would've revolutionized the world if they could've stuck to it and carried it off.

Midway through the professor's story, Blake interrupted with a remark, and so Molly wrapped her big smooth warm longnailed hand tightly over Blake's mouth, and she kept holding Blake's mouth until the end of the long, long story. Blake noticed that Professor Weiss seemed vaguely distracted and discombobulated. He kept glancing, at first glancing and then outright staring, at Blake's face, and at how Molly had Blake's mouth tight covered with her hand. That was when Blake knew Molly wouldn't let go of his mouth, because a bully girl like Molly enjoyed doing things that disconcerted people and threw them off balance.

Oh, and there was so much more! The evening in the garden out back. And the mouth holding incident down by the pier, people gaping at Molly and Blake as they walked on by. And the time when Blake challenged Molly to hold her hand over his mouth all afternoon long, and he didn't think she could pull it off, only as he discovered she was quite capable of holding his mouth all afternoon. These were the happiest days of Blake's life, living and loving and mouth holding with his beautiful funny wondrous beloved bully girl Molly.